


Pierce Arrow

by enemyfrigate



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyfrigate/pseuds/enemyfrigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan hurts himself. Duke helps out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pierce Arrow

“You, uh, you hurt yourself there.” Duke slams the car door shut and tips his head at Nathan’s arm.

Nathan has learned to identify damage to his own body by the warmth of blood on his skin. It’s not foolproof, he thinks, looking down at his arm. The long ragged cut is bleeding freely, but in the chase along the waterfront he never noticed.

The bustle of a crime scene - as much of a bustle as Haven ever sees - is dispersing. Audrey has it in hand, as usual. Nathan rolls his sleeve up, knowing that the shirt is probably ruined already.

“You should get that looked at,” Duke says. He hefts a cardboard box under his arm, looks like he‘s about to say something else.

“Yeah,” Nathan says. He can‘t quite meet Duke‘s gaze.

Duke shrugs, walks around Nathan onto the dock proper and heads for his boat.

Nathan is still standing there five minutes later. He’s not going to bleed to death from the raw graze, and he doesn’t need stitches. He needs a breather from all this. From Audrey‘s never ending quest to plunge deeper into Haven‘s troubles.

Something simple would suit him. Something familiar.

“Nathan? You going to stand there all night?” Duke leans over the bow of the boat, shirt hanging loose. He doesn’t wait for an answer, springing graceful over the side of the boat, coming down the dock.

Nathan remembers that stroll, coming toward him. The lazy swing in the gait, Duke knowing he’s being watched. The open smile, not the covering smile he shows most of the world.

Duke sets a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, Nate. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Nathan turns and follows Duke onto the boat. He knows this vessel like he’s lived here, but he’s never spent more time aboard than what was necessary to search her for contraband.

Duke steers Nathan to a couch. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and disappears into the head.

He comes back with a first aid kit. Pulls out alcohol and gauze and sits across from Nathan on the coffee table.

Duke knows from first hand experience that Nathan can’t feel his wounds, knows better than most people that Nathan’s stoic act isn’t an act. Still, his touch is gentle. He pries Nathan’s hand from the bleeding forearm and cleans the long graze with light fingers. He dabs alcohol onto the exposed flesh and wipes blood from the skin around the injury like he‘s trying not to spook Nathan.

Duke wraps gauze around Nathan’s forearm, finishes the ends with surgical tape, and goes into the head to put up the kit and wash his hands.

“Thanks,” Nathan says.

Duke leans in the doorway, and for a second, his mouth relaxes into the open smile Nathan remembers, the one that used to be directed at him.

“You’re welcome,” Duke says. “Can I get you a drink?”

Nathan nods.

Duke tips whiskey into two glasses and passes one to Nathan. This is different from drinking stolen beers out behind the old shipyard, but what Nathan does next is not: as Duke leans in to place the bottle on the table, Nathan takes the back of his neck and tugs. Their mouths meet. Duke makes a surprised noise.

Nathan allows a millimeter of air between their lips, giving Duke an out. Duke grips Nathan’s shoulder and closes the gap.

They both know this is a bad idea.

With big hands, Nathan tousles Duke’s hair, shapes his shoulders and back.

Duke straddles Nathan’s thighs, and kisses him with growing assurance. He knows he’s welcome, for right now.

They kiss, and Nathan is taking Duke’s shirt off and the whiskey bottle goes over, someone’s stray elbow, and Duke disentangles himself.

“Bed,” Duke says, and gets to his feet. He holds out his hand. Nathan grips it and lets himself be led.

Duke has always been lazily confident about sex. He was the one, two years younger and with no more idea of what to do than Nathan, to take the lead when they first came together in high school.

This time, Nathan allows Duke to pull him down onto the bed, allows himself to be undressed, allows himself to watch Duke strip.

But when Duke comes to bed and blankets himself over Nathan, Nathan finds the energy to tip him over onto his back.

To be fair, Duke kind of lets him.

They move together without words or discussion, finding the old favorites with no trouble. Duke likes to push his cock against Nathan’s thigh. Nathan likes both cocks together. There’s a compromise rhythm they figured out when they were 16 and 18 and it’s not a rhythm you can forget. And they haven’t, the motions etched deep in their bones.

It’s so familiar, like they never stopped, like Duke never walked away, like he never took back his promises, that Nathan is startled to find something new. Duke spreads his big hands over Nathan’s ass, directs his movements. There’s a little corkscrewing hip roll Nathan tries. Duke has some scars Nathan has never seen. Nathan has put on ten pounds of muscle since the last time they did this.

Duke finishes against Nathan’s belly, long lashes fluttering closed as he arches. Nathan still has a little ways to go, until Duke twists a hand between them and strips him quick, three, four upward squeezes, and Nathan’s body knows this hand, Nathan’s body knows what happens next. His mouth twists and he comes.

Nathan rolls off Duke and sprawls out on the bed. This is nice. They never got to fool around in a real sized bed, before.

Duke gets up, fetches a damp towel, and the two whiskeys they never got to drink.

The old boat is quiet. The room is quiet. Nathan sips his whiskey and wonders if Audrey is done with the crime scene yet.

A tinny sound penetrates Nathan’s thoughts.

Duke reaches for something on the floor, comes up with his pants, and fishes a cell phone from the pocket.

“Audrey,” Duke says. He listens. “I think he went home. Did you call him?”

A beat. Nathan gets up, gathers up his clothes. Somehow his briefs ended up half out the door.

“Nathan’s a big boy. He can take care of himself,” Duke says. He listens again.

“He’s not my problem,” Duke says to Audrey, and he looks over to Nathan in the doorway.

Nathan reads the truth in that look and his heart clenches. It’s not like he didn’t expect it. It’s not like he doesn’t know Duke: lone wolf, unreliable, all the rest.

He dresses, fast, not bothering to hide his hurt, and goes out the door without saying goodbye.

Duke lets him go without a word. Nathan doesn‘t look back. He doesn’t want to fool himself into thinking Duke feels regret over the way this encounter ended.

Nathan swings a leg over the side of the boat, but he’s not paying attention and his knee smacks hard into the metal. He disentangles himself and makes it to the dock. He’s limping, though he can’t feel why.

He can feel the clench in his chest, the pain of an invisible wound that’s never healed right.

And yet, he can’t help but look back, once, over his shoulder.

The shadowy figure at the bow, dark against the fading sky, raises a hand.

And Nathan smiles, the little one he can’t help, just the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t even fight the hope that rises in him.

Nathan has always been armored against everything - everything but Duke.


End file.
